Steven Santos - The Culling

“Gideon. Please . Listen to them. Put down the gun.” I try to sound calm, but I can hear the panicked edge creeping into my own voice. “You can go to the camps. At least you’ll still have a chance .”

He shakes his head. “Thank you.” His eyes sweep the four of us. “Thank you all for trying. But I’m so tired … I just need to rest … yeah … that’s it … just rest. It’s gone on way too long.” He smiles despite the stream leaking down his cheeks, onto the bridge of his nose.

Recruit Warrick. You are in violation of a direct order. Under the military code, you must now be shelved.

The enclosure holding the rats begins to vibrate as it prepares to slide open and let them loose-

My fist clenches Gideon’s glasses so tightly I can feel the frames cutting into my skin. “Don’t be stupid. Things can change .”

“ Listen to him, Gideon .” Digory bangs on the glass himself. Cypress’s bloodied hand is cupped over her mouth.

Gideon slides down the transparent wall and I mimic him from my side, nose to nose, separated by the reinforced glass, so thin, but impenetrable.

He shakes his head. “There’s nothing for me now.” He cocks his head as if he could whisper through the barrier. “I wanted to be a good person. Make a difference … But I … I mean … after my mom … my dad … ” He shrugs and his eyes connect with mine. “Am I unforgivable, Lucian?”

The panel holding back the writhing rodents rises an inch …

I pound as hard as I can. But the glass doesn’t shatter. The only thing that does is my heart.

“You are a good person, Gideon. You are ,” I sob.

“Thanks for everything.” He smiles at me. “I wish we could have gotten to know each other better in school.”

He lifts the gun to his temple and looks right at me.

I can’t breathe.

“ Don’t do it !” Cypress shrieks. She grabs onto me, her fingers digging into my arm.

Gideon squeezes the trigger-

CLICK.

It’s empty. The gun drops from his hand and clatters on the floor.

I sag against Digory. Of course they’d only load it with one bullet.

Gideon’s face is a mixture of regret and fear. “That’s what I figured.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that flashes in the light … something familiar …

I open my hand, staring at his glasses-and at the empty socket on one side, where the lens has been removed.

He shrugs. “I hope it’s not too dark … ”

“Gideon, no !” I shout.

He jabs the small shard into his throat, tearing a ragged smile all the way across it, choking and gurgling as a dark river flows down his neck.

His head slumps over.

And then I can’t hear the rats’ claws, the screeches, my heartbeat … nothing but my wails, which drown out everything else.

Far above, in that opening that let the Squawkers through, the sun tears through the dark veil of night and into a cloudy morning.

We’ve been at it for hours. The four of us pause in our labors and lean against the mound of sticks to gaze at it, no one saying a word. The muted light casts a creeping grayish brown pall over us. For a moment we’re frozen in time, like an old sepia-toned photograph.

But time’s fleeting. No matter how hard we try to capture it, it always trickles away through our fingers like fine sand, gone forever.

As the soft light deepens to a fiery orange, I can’t help but think how cold the sunrise is despite its radiant warmth, how indifferent to the fact that one less pair of eyes will ever be in awe of its majesty.

“It’s time.” Digory’s voice breaks the silence, plaintive notes whistling through a hollow reed. In his hand, he holds a makeshift torch which he’s lit by using one of the matches he found in the labyrinth. It flickers across his face in the deep orange and red hues of autumn, highlighting the circles under his eyes and infusing his pale cheeks with color.

I finally move, wiping the sweat from my brow, and place the last naked branch atop the others, careful not to disturb him . He looks so peaceful lying on the pyre, hands folded across his stomach, almost as if he’s stretched out in sleep. I run my fingers through his hair, and pull his collar closed, covering the long dark scar on his neck that shatters the illusion.

Cypress steps up to the pyre. Her face is ashen, eyes red and swollen. She bows her head, her lips moving in silence.

Ophelia stands a few feet away, her arms crossed, her eyes empty wells. “Why do we have to do this ?” she mutters, her voice drained of any emotion. “We could get a penalty for this. If we had just left him there -”

I whirl on her. “They would have just dumped him in some unmarked grave, buried him as if he were trash -as if he … ” The words catch in my throat. “As if he didn’t mean anything .” I bury my face in my hand, letting my fingers slide upward until they’re knotted in my hair. I bite into my lip to hold it together. But I’m powerless against the tremors rocking my body, making my shoulders heave.

I expect her to say something snide, to fight back. I don’t care. But she doesn’t, just continues to stare at Gideon. And then I think of her own mother, how horrible she looked at the end, how Ophelia never got the chance to lay her to rest, and I can feel her anguish. My grief is compounded with guilt for lashing out at her, and I reach out and clasp her hand.

Cypress sidles next to me, resting her head in the crook of my neck, not bothering to fight the tears running down her cheeks. Digory pats me on the back and lowers the torch to the kindling.

The branches sputter and sizzle as the fire catches, growing stronger and stronger, consuming the rest of the branches until it swaddles Gideon’s body in a blinding blanket of blazing light. Cypress’s sobs harmonize against the steady crackle of the flames.

“Anyone want to say anything?” Digory asks.

Ophelia can only shake her head, her eyes glazed with firelight.

I step forward and take the torch from Digory, a sudden rush of strength coursing through me.

I have to do this. I need to.

My eyes challenge the brightness of the fire, now raging like a miniature sun. But I don’t blink. Instead I let its heat seep into my pores as if I’m absorbing a part of Gideon that will forever be seared into my soul.

“Goodbye Gideon,” I say. “We’ll miss you. You will always be remembered for the kind, brave person that you were. A good son. And a true friend. May you find the peace at last that eluded you for so long.”

I hold the torch high.

The tendrils of flame look like fingers that reach up to the sky and merge with the risen sun, now bursting free of its cloudy prison, brilliant rays beaming down upon us.

The warmth finally penetrates my heart. I smile. Tears fill my eyes, trapping them in prisms of glistening color. “Rest in the light, Gideon, and never fear the darkness again.”

Hours later, after a sleepless rest at the holding station and a wordless breakfast of ration bars and water, we’re trekking past the end of the field and through the metallic arteries of the Skein once more. The only sounds are the drag and shuffle of our boots against the steel floor. Along the way, I pop a few more of the antibiotics into my mouth. But instead of swallowing, I swish them around my mouth from side to side and grind the pills with my teeth, concentrating on each bitter particle as it dissolves against my tongue.

With each chew, one thought echoes in my brain.